


Before The Fall

by WauryD



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Memory Loss, Mild Language, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-25
Updated: 2016-11-29
Packaged: 2018-09-02 00:41:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8644645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WauryD/pseuds/WauryD
Summary: When Jaime Lannister sat down beside Brienne, she thought it was life playing an odd trick on her. Between unexpected events and people's expectations, she realizes that finding oneself is about choices, and the consequences we're ready to accept.





	1. The Lion Of Lannister

**Author's Note:**

> This has not been beta'ed, so if anyone had pointers, please go ahead :D
> 
> This is my second multi-chapter fic, and I managed to confuse myself a few times, but I hope it's coherent and enjoyable :D The chapters vary a lot in length and I'm still revising some, but I should be posting every two days or so :)
> 
> I listened to 8 Hours of Inspirational Music (Youtube) on repeat while writing most of it. I think it needed mentioning. The fic is nowhere as adventurous or inspiring, but you know.

“Excuse me?"

The day was glorious, crisp and fresh with dry autumn cool. Golden sunshine reverberated off the fiery foliage in the park around Brienne. It wasn't quite as pretty as her home on Tarth, that she knew would have gotten its fall colours earlier than they did in King’s Landing, but it reminded her of it nonetheless. Her lunch breaks offered her that small comfort at least, as well as the quiet her cubicle usually turned into solitude.

She turned her blonde head towards the sudden voice on her right. She would have usually ignored it, as she normally did with most conversations happening around her that she rarely got to be part of. The sound of it, however, was too close, and obviously directed at her. 

Where she expected a homeless person asking for a few coins or a cigarette stood a tall, ridiculously handsome man with an apologetic smile, a short golden beard framing it and equally golden hair flowing around his ears. The bite of her sandwich sat in her mouth as she forgot to stop staring at his green eyes. 

“I'm sorry, I don't mean to intrude - “

_ Oh gods, did I rip my trousers?  
_ _ Was the bench freshly painted? _

“ - I was just wondering, would you mind if I joined you?”

Brienne couldn't form a reply. She knew that face, and people with that kind of face didn't speak to her. They didn't want to join her for lunch in a quiet park on a Tuesday. They might have wanted to convince her to sleep with them for some kind of bet, and her to punch them and break their nose in retaliation, but that was about it.  _ His nose is too pretty to be broken.  _ She thought of her own, permanently crooked from the last time. 

“I just,” the man continued, visibly hesitating as he was now confronted with silence, “I just saw you across the park and I thought you - “ He bit his lip. Her stomach made a flip, disliked by the food she had ingested so far. “I just - I was wondering if you'd like some company?”

The crushingly cute, apologetic smile had returned, and Brienne finally remembered to swallow. She was probably beet red by now, from neck to hairline. Not that her interlocutor seemed to mind or, surprisingly, to mock. She turned away, gesturing vaguely to the space she vacated by her side as she scooted farther on the bench.

His presence was surprisingly warm. Though he was sitting about a foot from her, the cold of the light wind seemed less biting. Maybe it was her own temperature rising. 

“I'm Jaime,” he offered with his left hand. It was an awkward movement, coming from between them on her right, and she scrambled to put down her sandwich to respond. “Brienne.”

“Brienne,” he repeated. Had she seen less of the world and its disenchantment, she could have sworn there was wonder in his voice. His grip not quite as sure as she had expected. She thought of her own calluses. He let go. 

He was Jaime Lannister, the son of Tywin Lannister, head of a commercial empire that reached just about everywhere and everything one could think of. “Do you work nearby?” He seemed genuinely curious.

“Um, yeah, about two blocks south.” He had a reputation for being loud, impulsive, and about as much an asshole as any rich boy could be. He wasn’t holding food.  _ There has to be cameras around. _ The public had a love/hate relationship with his antics, and Brienne had no desire to be part of any of it.

She started planning her escape. “What do you do? I mean,” he added quickly, “if you don’t mind me asking?” Maybe she could invoke a forgotten meeting. The sun had hidden behind one of the few clouds of the day and she suppressed a shiver.

“I’m an accountant.”  _ The job everyone just assumes must be the most boring in existence. _ Perhaps that’d discourage him. She fidgeted with the rest of her lunch, trying to subtly place things back so they would be quick to repackage when she found a way to flee.

“Oh, cool.” Appreciative. He  _ had _ to be pretending That was a dead giveaway. “Do you like it?”

That wasn’t something anyone had ever really asked. Some of her friends had questioned her choice of profession, saying that she should aim higher in the business hierarchy, that she could easily bulldoze her way to the top and probably be CEO within a few years. None of them had ever really thought to ask what she wanted, or to take it into consideration when she told them. 

She was happy on the sidelines, doing vital work away from the limelight. 

“I... do. Numbers are good. They don’t lie.” She couldn’t comprehend what had possessed her to reply that, but when she looked at him, Jaime seemed to register the subtext, and simply nodded.

The tabloids covers had been mostly devoid of him in the past few months, she realized. She never took the contents of gossip rags seriously, but when the day was unfavourable to outings, she’d spend her lunch breaks going through the magazines from the lobby. The receptionist, Ygritte, was very fond of rumours, and kept their supply up to date. There probably had been blurbs about the Lannisters in them, but Brienne couldn’t recall anything scandalously splattered on front pages. Which was unusual for them.

“Do you come here often?”  _ Now that’s sounding like flirting. _ He seemed awkward, as if he was trying to do something he’d never done before.  _ Or had good results with. _ Both of which were ludicrous: the wonderful blondes at his arm at every major event in the country disproved it.

“Every day the weather permits.” Maybe talking to an ugly person was the odd thing to be doing for him. Although there were unattractive people in the rich and famous circles, they were mostly men. The women got plastic surgery if they looked unfortunate. Sometimes, that made them look more unfortunate, and they mysteriously disappeared from public view until they didn’t.

Brienne was well aware of her faults. The first thing that was impossible to miss, or ever correct, was her stature: over six feet in height, shoulders broad as a man’s, and the general musculature rivalling that of a fratboy. She was rarely assumed to be a woman at first glance, and the apologies over misgendering her sometimes just rubbed salt in the wound. The shapeless, short cut she kept her straw-like hair as probably didn’t help, but it looked even more ridiculous otherwise.

It might have been easier if she had been pretty, or feminine, but she was neither. The shape of her, from her torso to her hips, barely hinted at her sex, and as such most clothing did nothing to flatter her.  _ There’s nothing to flatter _ , she’d usually think in the cabin of stores, staring at her sad reflection. 

Makeup was about the same. The compliment she received most often was on the colour of her eyes (the second was on her height, and those were more surprised comments than flattery), an astonishing blue that reminded her of the waters surrounding Tarth. That granted them mascara to darken her blond eyelashes, sometimes eyeliner if she had to attend some formal function. Lipstick and gloss were out of the question: they’d have highlighted the freakish width and unusual fullness of her lips, and her broad, twice-broken nose was unsalvageable under a blanket of freckles the defied foundation.

The rest, she could hide.

Somehow, still, Jaime seemed to be regarding her as a human being, in a pretty surprising turn of events. He wasn’t staring, he wasn’t smirking, and he generally seemed to be attempting to look her in the eye, at least when she didn’t avoid turning to him.  _ My eyes are up here _ , she thought sarcastically, knowing full well that there was nothing else on her to distract him.

His skin seemed a bit paler than the photographs she’d seen of him let believe, as if he’d been lacking sun. Or health. His features were still annoyingly perfect, chiseled cheeks and a straight nose and flawless teeth showing through flawless smiles.

“It’s a really nice place. I don’t think I’ve been here before.” He seemed to struggle to remember, puzzling her. It was an inconsequential detail, really. He was staring at the fountain that marked the center of the park, some way across from their bench. A restored Targaryen monument, possibly one of those his family had historically opposed. Or supported. The water had already been cut despite the absence of frost, and it lay covered in fast decaying leaves.

Brienne had never met a Lannister before, but she’d seen interviews. She looked around, but the very few passersby paid them no mind. The park was quiet, removed from the bustling of the rest of the city, and located in a district that, while not unrecommended, would not be favoured by people worth billions. Was he simply a lookalike, trying to fool her? He was dressed casually, jeans and a black jacket, and a dark red scarf wrapped loosely around his neck. Nothing screaming of a famous heir.

“What, hum,” she hesitated when he turned to her. “What are you doing around here?” He stared at her for a moment, and she wondered how green could burn that intensely.  _ Wyldfire, perhaps. _ The cursed fire of old.

“Trying to...” He sighed, looking away again. It might have intended to be a dramatic gesture, but he was interrupted by an authoritative voice behind them.

“ _ Ser. _ ” Brienne jumped at the sound, but Jaime barely moved. A severe-looking man, in a black suit, glared at the back of his head through shades. “Your father would prefer if you didn’t wander alone in public.”

Her companion closed his eyes with a sorry smile. “...escape,” he finished, so softly she might have been the only one to hear. He looked at her seriously. “Thank you for letting me join you, my lady.” He joined the antiquated title with an equally old-fashioned gesture, taking and lifting her hand gently to kiss it.

Her eyes went from her hand to Jaime leaving, led away and followed by more men in black coats. When they got out of sight, she stared at her forgotten sandwich.  _ What were you laced with? _


	2. The Bears And The Maiden Fair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another odd encounter, more promising than the last.

It took two full weeks before Brienne saw him again. She hadn’t told anyone about the encounter, but researched news sites - gossipy and not - about the whereabouts of the Lannister heir. His twin sister Cersei was leading a pretty social life at the arm of her drunk politician of a husband, and his brother Tyrion seemed hell-bent on publicly disproving any misconception regarding the correlation of the height his dwarfism had produced regarding to his... wit. 

But she had been right, nothing had been published or posted about Jaime’s occupations in several months, the last having been about a confused, drunken rant in a restaurant at a dinner with his twin. People posited that his father might have finally decided to put an end to his increasingly hostile behaviour in public by sending him to rehab, but if he was stored away in an establishment away from prying eyes, it was a secret better kept than the number of mistresses of Cersei’s husband.

There were no pictures recent enough to confirm that the man she’d met was indeed the Lion of Lannister, either, although the men in black who’d found him made it a lot more likely.

The first snowfall was likely only days away. Autumn had turned melancholic pretty quickly, that year, rain shoving down the rest of the burning colours Brienne loved in a matter of days. Everything had gotten cold and wet and grey, and she had wiped her usual bench before sitting down for her lunch. It had been quieter than usual, probably because of the menacing skies.

She had wondered if he would show up again, every day since, hoping against her better judgement to hear him smile her name again, admonishing herself for the girlish fantasy every time. Maybe she had missed him on the days that she’d stayed in.  _ Maybe I dreamed it all up and he was never there. _ She was ridiculous. The whole thing was.

Her lunch was gone quickly, as she distractedly perused the day’s KL Gazette. The travel section boasted about the golden beaches of Dorne. Petyr Baelish on trial, defending his misappropriation of public funds as the direct order of his superior. The latest box office hit, a horror flick about zombies from beyond the Wall.

Brienne was making her way out of the park when she heard her name, her heart missing a beat or putting an extra one in, she wasn’t sure. Jaime caught up with her, sporting a nondescript blue jacket and a baseball cap this time. She was reminded of her father, and their evenings of watching sports. 

“Hi.” He seemed especially happy to find her there, beaming, and she wondered for a moment if the clouds had just parted to shine down on him and his good mood. “I thought I would miss you.” What an odd thing to say.  _ Why would you miss me?  _ “Is your lunch already over? Were you heading back to work?”  _ Oh, that kind of missing. _

“Um, no, I’m - I have errands to run. Before I go back.” He seemed nervous, and she realized that his presence,  _ sans _ the bodyguards, was probably not sanctioned by the All-Father. He would probably be in trouble the moment they caught him again.  _ How many times have you escaped your golden cage since last time, pretty boy? _

Feeling a blush rising at the moniker, even if she hadn’t spoken it out loud, Brienne tried to convince herself that it was a perfectly rational choice of words. He was very handsome from a completely objective point of view. Jaime interrupted her thoughts. “Do you mind if I tag along?”

For the second time, her reply refused to come to her lips, so she simply gestured her agreement. He seemed perfectly content with her quietness. She had feared and hoped that he might take her arm or her hand, but he did not, though he walked close and matched her pace, making small talk about the change of weather, apparently satisfied enough with her short answers.

Her first stop was the pharmacy, as she thanked all of the Seven, individually, that she didn’t need to buy personal items. Jaime was still amicably rambling on things he observed around them, asking her thoughts on newspaper headlines. She answered as best as she could, but she had to admit that she was still baffled, and a bit intimidated, by his insistence at hanging out with her.

There was something about beautiful people that made everyone else question their own worthiness of being addressed or noticed at all.

There was a lull in the almost one-sided conversation as she examined different packagings of painkillers. Brienne was very intent on ignoring her own flushed face, burning from his eyes studying her. That must have been quite a sight, a devastatingly handsome man staring at a crimson, ugly woman.

He was momentarily disappeared, and she tried very hard not to look around for him.  _ He can do as he pleases.  _ She thought of the bodyguards. Could he?

“I always wanted to have some of those.” He was suddenly back right by her side, far closer than she expected, startling her. He showed her the bottle of gummy bear vitamins decorated with childish colours and imagery he had fetched.

Brienne couldn’t help herself. “What are you, twelve?” she laughed. He smiled, but his expression was a bit odd when he answered.

“I might be.” Slight bitterness? Only for a moment. He seemed to pick himself up and grinned. “I’m still buying these.” He did look as proud as a kid.

He played with the bottle as he followed her around quietly. She almost felt like a mom.

“It’s just really nice to be out and about, you know.” He had a grateful grin that kind of broke and melted her heart at the same time. She tried to push the whole mess away, arguing with herself that he could have had better company if he had looked further than the park bench.

It came out anyway. “I... have to be honest.” There was definitely worry in Jaime’s features now, confirming that she was a champion at sabotaging herself. “I know who you are.”

His smile turned sheepish, and he looked away. “I figured you would.” It was so unlike anything she’d ever read or seen of him, not bragging of his name, his status, his family. Himself.

“You seem... so different.” Half a statement, half a question. He didn't reply. It had been devoid of accusation, towards his old self or his apparently new one, but it seemed like a sore subject. “I don’t mean - “

“It’s okay.” He looked up, visibly noting something behind her.  _ They’ve come for him _ . It sounded so dramatic, but his frown hinted that it was not far off from what he felt. Turning back his attention to her, he suddenly became serious. “Would you have dinner with me?”

Fearing that she might once again end up speechless, Brienne let her first thoughts stutter themselves out. “I - I’m - I... guess? Sure,” she replied as Jaime fished for his wallet, and for a pen from the inside pocket of his jacket. He scribbled on a business card, handing it to her along with the gummy vitamins, and a bill to cover their cost.

“Tomorrow night? I don’t think they’re going to let me out into a restaurant, but you can come to my apartment? Maybe?” His speech was suddenly fast and nervous, and she wondered if it was the impending recapture or asking her out that did it. “I’m not going to - you don’t have to worry about - “

The blush that had been slowly creeping away came back in full force at the implication. “It’s fine,” she cut him off, hoping in vain to stymie its progress. “Should I - should I bring wine?” She’d read once that apparently, when a person blushes, so does the lining of their stomach. Feeling it doing that right then, she cursed herself for asking. Wine implied a date. This wasn’t a date.

Jaime had a sorry smile. “I’m on medication, so I can’t. You can - you can bring some anyway, if you like. But I got alcohol-free beer, too, so.” She nodded, finding nothing to reply to that. A beat passed and she saw one of the men in black round the corner of the aisle behind him. Despite knowing full well that they weren’t there to hurt anyone, her face must have shown alarm, and he looked around with a worried frown, only to be met by a severe one. 

He sighed, turning back to Brienne. “Six-thirty-ish? Seven? Is that okay?” He was quiet, probably trying to prevent the watchful men from hearing. She nodded, he smiled. They were gone.

It wasn’t until she was back at her desk, her coat and bags stored away, that Brienne unclenched her hand to look at the now crumpled card he’d given her. It had been a sturdy one, with the gold lion of Lannister embossed on one side with Jaime’s name and company phone, and a badly scrawled address and apartment number on the other. 

_ What do you want with me? _


	3. The Kingsguard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happiness is a warm stew. And other little things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my favourite part cause I'm a sap and this is feels and fluff and cuteness.

‘Six-thirty-ish, seven’ proved to be one of the worst factors for her nervousness. Should she be on time, five minutes early? Early to what? Was six forty-five too literal? Was seven too late?

Brienne decided on six thirty-seven, to make a point. She was perfectly within the time frame they’d agreed on, but not too eager to be there either. If this was over-thinking, she wondered if there was a worse name for the time she’d put on choosing how to dress.

In the end, a dark blue blouse and black slacks had won over the repeatedly rejected skirts, jeans, and the one dress she possessed. She’d brushed her hair back, deciding that eyeliner would be overkill. As the elevator rose up the massive apartment complex where Jaime lived, realization hit that she had forgotten to wear any sort of jewelry. Not that she wore much, but she still almost turned tail before reminding herself that she hadn’t looked particularly feminine the first times they met. If he expected her to change that, it would be his mistake, not hers.

She’d had to ring his flat to be let into the building, walking past one of the bodyguards, and he was waiting for her by his door when she stepped into the hallway. He was all smiles again, despite the awkward dance they performed around their greeting. Should he hug her, shake her hand? Kiss her cheeks? He finally opted for no physical contact, much to her relief, inviting her to precede him in.

The interior was far less luxurious than Brienne had imagined. The short entrance hallway gave onto a large living room that was probably about three quarters of the space of her entire flat. The furniture looked expensive, but higher-executive-expensive, not richest-son-expensive. Framed vintage posters adorned the off-white walls, side by side with the vividly coloured splashes of abstract paintings. Giant TV screen, sophisticated hi-fi system, and the most decrepit-looking record player she had ever seen.

Jaime put her coat away as she removed her boots, leading her to the dining area. She noted his large collection of vinyl records on the way, spotting a few albums she was familiar with. Having never really gotten hooked on classic rock, she still loved everything about the history that revolved around it.

The table was set for two, in the informal sort of way one would prepare to host a close friend. She wondered if he couldn't have been bothered, or didn't want to give the impression of wanting to impress her. A deep pot rested on the stove, apparently the source of the delicious, hearty smell she’d noticed as far as the hallway. 

“I forgot to ask about food,” he admitted sheepishly. “That's one of my favourite recipes, and it was fairly easy for me to do. It's a pretty typical stew,” he added, showing her to a seat. “Beef and veggies. Nothing really unusual, but the spice mix has been a family tradition for generations. I got it from my aunt Genna.”

“I’m not picky. It smells great.” Brienne cringed inwardly as she sat, unable to come up with a more interesting response to such personal information. Jaime seemed to be entirely ready to forthcoming with her in all honesty, which was not the normal behaviour of a celebrity with someone who was, in the end, a random person off the street.

Not that she wasn’t trustworthy. But he should know better, and still, he was sharing probably more than he needed to.

He brought her food first, and for the first time she noticed the stiffness of his right hand, as he placed the bowl in front of her. She didn't stare, even when he returned with his own, then with a basket of bread. He looked nervously at the table, fidgeting with his fingers, suddenly remembering. “You didn't bring wine?”

She hadn't wanted to be the only one drinking. “I, uh, no.” Maybe she should have.

“That's fine. Did you want something to drink? I have, uh, filtered water, sparkling water... milk?” He gave an embarrassed grin. “Oh, and, non-alcoholic beer.”

“The beer is fine. Thank you,” she added as he retrieved two cans from the refrigerator. He sat next to her, separated by the corner of the table. It was a cozy setting, not romantic, not ruled by etiquette, but by comfort and companionship. Despite her awkwardness and his own, Brienne started to relax.

They made small talk, her complimenting him about the food, him asking about her job. It almost felt domestic, even with the shy glances and smiles they exchanged from time to time. She was about to eat a piece of bread she’d just used to wipe her bowl clean, when she caught him grinning at her, amused. Half an hour earlier, it would have made her paranoid. She smiled back. “What?”

He looked down at his own food, smirking. “I'm just glad you liked it.”

She was stuffing her mouth with the bread already, but glared at him suspiciously. “Djid jou poijonn it?”

A rich, honest laugh came out of him, flipping her stomach over.  _ You stop that.  _ “I don't think I could have put enough poison in there to knock  _ you _ out!”

The pain was bittersweet. It hurt less coming from  _ him _ , after the comfortable atmosphere they had just established. But it also stung in a particular way, to be reminded of it by  _ him _ . 

It probably showed on her face. Jaime got serious pretty quickly. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean...”

Brienne swallowed a bit too fast, turning her cough into a chuckle. “It's fine. I'm aware of how I look.” He still looked ready to confound himself in apologies that weren’t needed. “And for the record, I'm actually kind of a lightweight, at least when it comes to alcohol.”

When he didn't reply immediately, she pretended to drink from her long-empty beer. She really had to control her emotions better, or at least the ones that showed. 

“I promise I won't try to poison you,” he finally said softly. They both smiled. Perhaps this was salvageable after all. 

“‘Appreciate it.”

“You can have more, if you're still hungry. I got leftovers for like, a week. Of eating that for every single meal.” She hesitated. She  _ was  _ still kind of hungry, maybe, she could definitely eat more of it, but... women weren't really expected to have that much of an appetite. To eat more than a man. And her size...

“I'll - I'll give my brain a moment to catch up with my stomach,” she ended up saying. Jaime nodded, taking a last spoonful of his own portion before getting up and offering her another beer. They settled with a bit of an awkward atmosphere. 

_ He's going to come out with it _ . Whatever reason he had had to invite her. 

“You mentioned that I seemed... different from what you know of me.”  _ There we go. Conversion to a wholesome philosophy? Personality transplant? Rehab? _ He sighed, avoiding her gaze. He uncuffed the wrist of his shirt, pausing for a second before rolling it up. A brace came into view, revealing a surprisingly life-like prosthetic in place of his right hand. 

That was the kind of thing that would have made the news, but hadn’t. Brienne frowned. Their eyes met, and she realized that he must have studied her reaction. She could find nothing else to say. “What happened?”

It took him a few seconds to answer, and as he did, he rolled his sleeve back down. “I woke up about three months ago, in the hospital. With head trauma and...” He waved his hand weakly. “I don’t know what happened. They said that they had to amputate because it was in a terrible state, and I... I  _ am _ different. I don’t - “

The thought seemed painful, so much that she instinctively placed a hand on his forearm. He looked at it, and she felt her face burning with embarrassment, but didn’t move away. He resumed his explication. 

“I don't remember everything. Some people suddenly felt like strangers, even - even if I could remember a lot of details about them. It's been... alienating. Trying to be someone I'm clearly not anymore.”

_ I understand.  _ She didn't, exactly, very few people could, but it resonated with her. She didn't have to be a public figure, although it seemed that Jaime had been pulled from that position as well, for the time being at least. “I'm sorry. Does it... does it hurt?”

That sad smile again. It wasn't clear whether she was asking about the loneliness or the physical pain. Brienne wasn't sure herself. “Sometimes. Mostly it's kind of numb. I've been doing physical therapy and... that's pretty much it. Hanging out here and therapy. For over two months now.”

So he had started escaping. And met her. And the second time... he knew where and when he could find her.  _ I thought I might miss you.  _ “Why me?”

She hadn't meant to make it sound like an accusation, but it kind of did. There was little to disguise the awkwardness it brought forth, so she took off her hand from his arm to reach for her beer can. Jaime fidgeted with his fingers again. “I just thought... you looked isolated, in the park. I thought you might understand. And when I sat down with you, you...” He swallowed, searching for the right words. “You treated me like a person. Everyone has been expecting me to be who I was before. The son, the brother, the socialite. Even when they understand it might take time, they’re still  _ waiting _ . For the other guy. And the rest... people are freaked out by my hand. Or interested in the science of it, the biology and...”

He took a deep breath. “I'm not whoever I was before I woke up, and I'm not a medical curiosity. But no one seems to get that.”

A nod. Yeah. Brienne knew that feeling. Watching as he took a long gulp from his can, she asked, “I'm guessing your father isn't keen on revealing this to the world? It doesn't seem to be the type of things he'd consider would strengthen your family’s image.” He snorted. No more confirmation was needed.

The silence stretched, not exactly uncomfortable. There was little that she could offer, probably not much more that Jaime would, or could share. They'd only met three times, after all, and suddenly she likely knew more about his inner thoughts than his own father.

She let another moment pass, then broke the quiet. “I, uh,” she cleared her throat. “I saw that you have a few of the old records by The Kingsguard?” He stared at her for a few beats, enough for her to wonder if he considered her observation to be snooping. She was ready to apologize when he replied. 

“I do. Well spotted.” It took him another couple of seconds, but he smiled and rose. “I never expect anyone to recognize them. Usually they know the one song that keeps cycling on radios, but the artwork stays obscure.”

They moved to the living room, where he put  _ Sword Of The Morning _ on his old record player. Closer to it, Brienne could tell it might look to be in bad shape, but the mechanisms were maintained impeccably. “It was my mother’s,” he offered once again. “But she preferred classical music.” Familiar riffs came to life, memories from her childhood on Tarth where her father had told her all about the legends surrounding the infamous group, and so many more.

Jaime seemed intrigued by her expression, but pleased. She'd have to disappoint him and admit that the music itself simply did nothing for her, but still took her back to a warm and happy place in her life. The emotions were strangely vivid, too, and she found herself back in the kitchen as he worriedly called after her. “‘m fine,” she called back, returning a moment later with another bowl of comforting stew. 

She blushed when he chuckled, and somewhere in the back of her mind she knew that he was amused with her, not mocking, and that she was blushing at his contentment of seeing her appreciate his food, not of embarrassment. 

It was a strange evening. 

He spent the rest of it trying on various pieces to convince her of the genius of his favourites, despite her repeatedly explaining that she wasn't disputing their greatness or their influence, she just wasn't into it. She shared old stories she remembered, some he knew, some he didn't. He played air-guitar standing on the couch, exaggerating every flourish while she tried not to spit out her beer, sitting on the floor. 

It was one of the greatest nights Brienne could remember ever having. 

Through it all, they both spoke of their families, few friends, interests, losses. She’d lost a brother, and sisters she’d never known, he told her how his twin sister acted as if she barely knew him anymore. They'd both lost their mother, but while she had had a loving father, Jaime’s had pushed him to act as an adult quite early.

As the conversation lulled and she reflected further on the topic of childhood, a sudden thought crossed her mind, and she stumbled up to go grab her bag. He'd been sitting on the floor by her side, and he looked up at her questioningly until she handed him the bottle of gummy vitamins she had bought for him the previous day. The admiration in his gaze seemed barely worthy of the treasure she was presenting him with, although he seemed to be directing it at her. 

_ If you keep looking at me like that, I'm going to fall in love with you. _

He never took his eyes off her as he opened the bottle, struggled with the seal - she took it back, removing it with an admonishing look - and put a small handful of them in his mouth. “Wanch one?”

“No thank you,” Brienne replied with a smirk, still looking down at him, grabbing her nearly empty can. “I'm an adult. I get my vitamins from beer,” she finished as she downed the rest of it. The containers kept saying they didn't contain alcohol, but they might as well have, what with the warmth that was suffusing through her mind. 

Her face was hot under his gaze as she checked her phone. She suddenly looked alarmed. “ _ Shit _ . It's that late?!” There was no clock in the living room and they had been having such fun... “I have to get up at six and it's already past one!”

Jaime stopped her as she tried to gather their discarded dishes and cans. “Don't worry about it.” She tried to argue, but he laughed. “Seriously. I have  _ nothing _ else to do. It's fine.” He shooed her towards the door when she hesitated. 

“How did you get here?” He retrieved her coat, helping her with it. It actually made it a more awkward process, but he was brushed her arms and shoulders a few times. She ordered her heart to calm the fuck down. 

“I drove. The beer really was nonalcoholic, right?”

He squinted at her. “I think we would have noticed if they hadn’t been, with the amount we drank.” He seemed particularly proud of that feat. “Why wouldn't it have been nonalcoholic?”

Okay, so that heat was really all her and not booze. The exchange added to it, and she tried not to think of the current colour of her face. “I don't know. I'm just saying. I could get in trouble.”  _ I’m already in trouble _ .

Tiredness hooded his eyes, and he smiled, pushing her gently towards the door. “I'll walk you down.”

It seemed like a good idea at the time, but the wait for the elevator was suddenly uneasy. They'd popped a bubble she hadn't been aware had enveloped them, and she felt its loss in the pit of her stomach. 

They had left from the seventeenth floor where he lived, and Jaime had already been staring at her for three of them on the way down when he moved towards the panel, pushing the button for the thirteenth, twelfth, eleventh... “What are you doing...?”

The doors were closing on the deserted thirteenth floor when he finished pushing every single button down. He looked back at her, with the kind of expression Brienne had imagined when reading novels. “Buying time.”

The warmth and the gentleness of his touch left her breathless long before his lips even touched hers, tentative, searching for permission. It was a bit of a blur, but by the second floor, she had pulled him against her, his hands on her waist, her fingers on his jaw, and tempted to make the trip back upstairs with all the same stops.

He was kissing her again, tenderly, when the doors opened on the lobby. There were still men in black keeping watch, who would probably report this to Tywin Lannister, but she was really all out of fucks to give about that sort of thing at the moment. They frowned when the couple appeared, but Jaime simply rolled his eyes at them. As tempting as it was, he wasn't going to try and outrun them tonight. 

The cold air filtering near the door made her shiver, and he stepped against her for a final goodbye, wrapping his arms around her and burying his face in her neck. “You’re gonna be okay?” The thrumming of his voice against her throat sent a jolt through her. 

“Hmm-mm. I don't have very long to go.” He didn't seem to want to let her, still. She wasn't complaining. His embrace versus the cold and solitude of her car, then of her flat? Very little contest.

His forehead pressed against hers when he came back up. “Okay. Be careful?” She smiled. She might need a minute to start her brain back up before she turned on the ignition. She held his green gaze, still  _ wyldfire, _ only for a second before looking down. He kissed her cheek. “I'll see you soon.” It sounded like a promise, but Brienne knew she wasn't quite in her right mind. Maybe he wasn't, either. 

They finally untangled, and Jaime watched her leave. When she sat in her car, in the dark, alone, she took a deep breath to steady herself. It would take many more before she felt safe enough to drive. 

_ What the fuck. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The premise of the story was based on my questioning of, "Who would Jaime be as a person if he didn't have the burden of his past?", hence the partial memory loss.


	4. Honour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne has a bit of time to process things, which goes as well as one might expect.

Brienne woke up begrudgingly, slamming her clock to stop the buzzing that had already awakened her twice that morning.  _ Ugh _ .

She lay in her bed, staring the the dark ceiling, as the memories of the previous evening flowed to her mind. Specifically, the ones from only a few hours ago, in which Jaime Lannister had tasted of beer and gummies against her tongue. It was ridiculously unbelievable. 

There were very few people she could entrust with this, she reflected as she shivered under the hot water of the shower. Podrick would be even more awkward about it than she was. Sansa was her bosses’ daughter, and might be too excited about the revelation to keep it to herself. Margaery... She was less likely to gossip, but also  _ more _ likely to try to use it to her advantage. With Jaime’s position... it was not only her decision. 

Her commute went by quicker than usual, distracted as she was, and Brienne found herself at her cubicle much earlier than she would normally have been. She had a habit of spending a good forty-minute working out at the gym before she got to work.  _ Not today _ . It might have helped put her mind in order, but...  _ Not today. _

The day was a strange one, both inwardly and outwardly. It felt like she had an odd number of requests from people she rarely ever interacted with, and the ones she did seemed to regard her with curiosity. More than once, she checked her face in the restroom mirror for anything amiss, in vain. 

Having gotten in early, she seized the occasion to take a longer lunch, leaving before noon to avoid the usual rush at the nearby bakery. She thought of the stew she had eaten too much of the previous night, as she ordered a cheese and tomato sandwich. Maybe she should have offered him to take some home with her, so he wouldn't get stuck with so much to eat by himself.

She'd almost ran away. Hopefully he wouldn't think she had wanted to cut the evening short. 

But he'd kissed her after. So probably not.

Halfway onto the pathway that led to her bench, Brienne once again heard her name called out, and turned to see Jaime jogging towards her. An angry-looking guy in a black coat followed closely, probably annoyed at having to run through the wet grass, or run at all. 

His smile was pretty spectacular when he reached her. “Can't stay long,” he laughed, cocking his head towards the panting man who waited crossly many feet away. “I just wanted to say hi.”

Maybe one day she would have things to reply to him, but for the time being, she let him kiss her without a word. He took his time, as if he wanted to thoroughly explore her mouth, or perhaps use every second of relative freedom he was getting out of it. 

“Hi,” he chuckled, breathless, when he finally loosened his embrace. She had to laugh as she echoed his greeting. This was ridiculously cute and romantic and belonged in a movie, not in her life. “How's your day going?”

“Just got better.” Was she all red again? Probably. 

He grinned, kissing her gently once more as his bodyguard coughed annoyingly. “I'll talk to you soon.”

The keeper appeared to chide him as they departed, and Brienne watched him laugh, looking back at her with a smile and a wink.

Her hand only found the card he had slipped in her coat pocket when she returned to her cubicle. The same kind he'd given her his address on, this time scribbled with a phone number. Yes, that might be useful to communicate, and perhaps not piss off the team that was apparently charged with keeping an eye on him. If he escaped their sight every time he wanted to talk to her, they would hate  _ her _ pretty quickly.

The rest of the day was spent on trying to determine whether she was supposed to call him that same night. Should she play hard to get?  _ He's already got me _ .  _ I don't have the luxury to pretend I'm not interested _ , she thought bitterly. When a guy half as hot as Jaime Lannister sought out someone like her so clearly...

...it meant bad news. In her experience, at least. She would never understand what was entertaining about watching someone with low self-esteem get punched down further with insincere kindness. But she'd been the target of such hobbies before. 

The idea that he could have pretended so perfectly to open up to her, get so close with only the intent of hurting her felt so unlikely. Then again, neither had she wanted to believe it of Hyle. She had to learn. 

Most of the evening went by before she stopped staring and put the card down, picking up her battered cellphone. A feminine voice answered on the fourth ring, barely audible through ambient voices and music.  _ Shit.  _

“Hey Marge, it's Brienne.” Friday night. She'd be busy. 

“Baby, are you okay? You never call that late. Did you punch a drunk guy again?”

Brienne smiled at the thought. Her friend had gotten out of tricky situations with her charm more than once. “No, sorry, it's - it's not pressing. You're busy, I'll call back tomorrow.”

“No no no no! If you reached out to me on a Friday night, it's probably huge. Let me call you back in a minute, okay?” She was basically yelling over the music. 

“You don't have - “

“Okay!” A click, then silence. Had she agreed not to call, or...?

It took less than thirty seconds for her phone to ring. She picked up with a sigh. There was still background noise, but it was muffled.

“Okay, what's going on? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I'm fine. I just... got into a weird situation. I just wanted to sound it off you.”

Margaery’s voice turned conspiring. “Is it about a guy?”  _ How does she do that? _ When no reply came after a few seconds, she exclaimed shrilly. “ _ Oh gods, I didn't think I would be right!  _ Okay, okay, tell me about it. What's he like? It's a guy right?”

After confirmation of the subject’s gender, the interactions so far were detailed. Apart from the fact that it was Jaime frigging Lannister. Brienne did impress, however, that the man in question was uncommonly handsome, and how she found his interest... difficult to justify. 

“Darling. You've never met him before, right?”

Brienne hesitated. She knew of him, but he couldn't have heard of her. “No.”

“The chances of him trying to use a total stranger for this kind of sick joke are pretty low. Not entirely nonexistent, I mean there are major idiots in this world, but... He's not Hyle, honey. I know you're scared, I know it was a fucking shitty thing of him to do, but this guy seems nothing like it.”

When she was met with silence, Margaery continued. “I know that you don't like how you look. Hey,” she objected when her friend snorted at the other end of the line, “ _ I  _ like how you look, and I  _ don't _ like when you put yourself down. As I was saying, I know that your appearance bothers you, but that doesn't change the fact that you're one of the best persons I've ever met. You're funny, and kind, and brilliant if you just get the opportunity to open your mouth. Clearly he realized that too. And  _ he _ liked it.”

The awkward moment of being showered with praise by a friend and knowing that they’d argue to death if a single doubt was brought up. There was little to reply. “I guess...”

“ _ I _ know. Take a deep breath, take your fear by the hand, say “fuck it” and jump. Not literally, but you know. Call him. He's probably thinking that you decided he's an idiot after all by now.”

“Maybe he  _ is _ an idiot,” Brienne countered weakly. She knew she was cornered. Marge laughed. 

“If he is, I will personally kick him in the crotch once you're done beating him up. I promise.”

It took a few minutes, after that call ended, for the second one to be dialled, involving more staring at the golden business card. 

Jaime picked up on the second ring. He sounded a bit wary. “Hello?”

“Hi, um, it's - “

The smile was audible as he cut her off excitedly. “Brienne. Hi. How are you? How was your day?” He sounded nervous. It was pretty late, maybe she should have waited until the next day. 

“I - good. Am I bothering you?”

“Oh, no, I was - no, I'm glad you called. I... I was wondering if you would.” Margaery has been right.

“Yeah, sorry, I got caught up.” An awkward beat. “Did you get in trouble for running, at lunch?”

He laughed, and Brienne felt the tension drop noticeably. “Not really. Not more than usual, anyway. I've done so, so much worse.”

“Do I want to know...?”

It took hours before their discussion ended, with a yawn reminding Jaime that she hadn't had much sleep the night before, either. “I got your number, now. So I can bother you anytime I want.” She could see his grin in her mind. “That's your cellphone, right? So I can text you?”

She confirmed.  _ You can't bother me if I actually want you to call. Oh, gods, how sappy did I just get? _ “Work comes first, though. So don't be mad if I don't get back to you quickly during weekdays.”

“I know, my lady. Honour and duty will always take precedence, and I won't begrudge you that.” That title again. She wondered if he knew of her family’s ancient nobility. It didn't come with anything anymore, so she never bothered mentioning it to anyone.

“Well,  _ ser _ , if that is agreeable with you, I will take my leave of you for now.”

“I would rather not, but...” He let a beat pass, and finished with an audible smile. “Goodnight, Brienne.”

She thought of kissing him earlier.

“Goodnight, Jaime.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The 4 other chapters are written and edited. Post them all in one go? 2/day? Keep to 1/day?


	5. Kingslayer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trust goes both ways.

Nightly chats soon became the norm, an outlet for the frustrations of both of them. Jaime managed to get his security team to reluctantly agree to weekly meetings for lunch in the park, on the express condition that he behave at all other times. Brienne understood through the lines that he had needed an escape, something to look forward to, and that somehow it ended up being her.

She’d been apprehensive of him being physically affectionate, especially in public. The first times he'd kissed her, she had had little time to think or react before it happened, and she was a bit uncertain of what would happen in a less hurried setting. But he had been measured, kissing her when they met and again when they parted, and otherwise keeping to light touches, brushing a bit of snow off her shoulder, picking at crumbs on her knee.

And yet, she knew what she was. A distraction. So was he, in a way, but she was clearly getting the better end of the deal. There would be a day when Jaime would return to public life, where she couldn't follow, and that would be the end of it. 

Brienne loved to tell herself that when she hadn't seen him in a few days and started to miss him. 

It took a full month before she returned to his apartment, when he got his hands on a full record of unreleased songs by The Kingsguard. Their conversations often turned to music, as he playfully insisted that she just hadn't found the right song yet, the one that would be the key to falling in love with his favourite band. When he found  _ Kingslayer _ , a compilation of unpublished pieces that had been put together by one of the studio techs who had worked with the group for practically their whole career, he'd begged her to come over. It was a weeknight, and while she had insisted that he didn't need her to listen to it a first time at least, he'd begrudgingly agreed to wait until the following weekend.

It was Brienne’s turn to bring food, and after a short mortified moment, they both made light of the fajitas she opted for. He’d explained early on that while his prosthetic allowed for prehensility, it was not nearly as exact in precision and strength as his real hand had been. It granted him a lot of freedom, and he’d practiced his left extensively in the past months, but it had limitations. He laughed at her trying to secure his food into a cohesive hold, while she blushed and threatened to let him work it out on his own. They both finished their meals with a fork. 

The themes of The Kingsguard’s music were not especially light as a general rule, but the unpublished record proved to be much darker than either had expected. Deeper torments than the usual abuse rock was usually made of, although no deeds explicitly stated.

There was a change in Jaime's mood within the first few songs. He had started out commenting on riffs and intonations, how each related to the band’s history and growth, but by the time they reached  _ The Dragon _ , fifth on the record, he had gone silent, drowning any comment he might have made in sips of his beer.

Concern reached a sufficient level in Brienne when he appeared to have zoned out completely. They were sitting side by side on the couch, but he had been staring ahead for two songs now, and she could see indents in the can he was holding in his left hand.

She gently bumped his shoulder with hers, effectively pulling him out of his thoughts. He looked at her as if he'd just left a dream. She smiled. “Maybe we should stop this here.” He held her gaze for an agonizing second, and she found hints of distress behind the green fire. Then, unexpectedly, he lowered himself to rest his head on her lap.

There was not quite enough space on the couch for him to be lying down full-length, so he curled his legs against his stomach as she tentatively stroke his hair. He faced away from her, so she couldn't see his expression, but his regular breathing made her think he was not crying. It was still a spectacular display of vulnerability, one that Brienne didn't feel she was quite prepared to handle. 

Silence followed the end of the disk before either of them moved. She started thinking that Jaime might have fallen asleep, but he turned around, looking up at her.  _ Fantastic sight, the underside of my stupid chin. _ She kept stroking through his hair with her fingers, her other hand awkwardly resting on his chest. Unable to look at him, knowing his stare.

“Brienne.” 

Her heart was pounding inexplicably. _ I have done nothing embarrassing. Why am I feeling like this? _ “Hmmm?”

He reached softly for her cheek with his left hand, prompting her to meet his eyes. He smiled after a moment, as if chasing an idea out of his mind, then sat back up by her side. His kiss was gentle, but she thought she felt a hint of... need? "You okay?"  
  
His face in the crook of her neck, kissing the skin he found there. "Yeah." Almost a sigh. Going up higher, towards her ear. She felt it turn red, along with the rest of her face, probably. "D'you want to stay over?"  
  
It took a few seconds for her to realize the implications of the offer. She must have stiffened, as he withdrew from her a bit, nodding to a door across the room. "There's a guest room."  
  
She agreed, unable to come up with an excuse not to. He had spare toothbrushes - Tyrion had often ended up passing out drunk here, so he was prepared - and she could borrow pajamas - his would fit her. He didn't try to push things further, however, something she was grateful for.

Jaime kissed her cheek sweetly when he left her at the door of her room. Breakfast was promised.

As Brienne laid in the ridiculously comfortable bed - the sheets must have been changed recently, too.  _ Has he been planning this? _ \- her brain took the opportunity to go off. What had he been about to say, back on the couch? Why had the record put him in such a mood? Had he offered the guest room as an afterthought, when he sensed her awkwardness? Had he actually hoped for sex?

Sleep pulled her in its tow before she found an answer.

  
  


The awakening was a confused affair, with the odd lighting of the room and feel of the bed.  _ What day is this? _ It took her a moment to reconcile her thoughts into coherence, locating herself in space and time.  _ Saturday. Okay. _

Nothing could be heard from the rest of the flat, or from the outside of it, for that matter. She had expected to hear cars, maybe, being in the heart of King’s Landing. Urban noise was so familiar, her own apartment being much closer to street level and probably not as well insonorized as this one. She listened for a few minutes, hoping to detect a sign that she wasn’t the only one awake. Nothing.

She killed time for half an hour or so - maybe: she’d left her phone in her bag in the entrance hallway, and somehow there were no more clocks in the guest room than there were in the living room. The sun had risen a good deal in the clear morning, and the height provided her with a fascinating view of the city.

Brienne was not used to doing nothing, however, and being in unfamiliar territory - both the location and the situation - unnerved her. She risked a peek outside her room: everything sat still. Her field of vision included the kitchen, in which a coffee machine was clearly visible. She quickly turned around after taking three steps towards it, rushing back quietly to put her jeans on as she blushed, cursing herself. They were not quite at  _ that _ stage yet.

A discarded pair of wireless headphones on the couch commanded her attention as she exited the guest room again. They hadn’t been there when they’d gone to bed the previous night. Or rather, when she had. Jaime could have done anything after she closed the door of her bedroom. He’d pointed his own to her before kissing her goodnight, so she’d know where to find him. In case she needed something.  _ Anything, he said. _

That door laid open now, the room lit by the rising sunlight. The bed was empty. He was gone.

Purposefully shoving panic back down her throat, Brienne reminded herself that she wasn’t stuck. She had all of her things, her car was downstairs, and the front door could stand to stay unlocked in a secure building until he got back.

She returned to her room, making the bed and putting her own shirt on with an uneasy feeling. Waves of unlikely conspiracies went through her mind, each more ludicrous than the other, leaving an anxious mark in her head nonetheless. With everything folded and back in place, she took a deep breath, and exited.

Only then did she notice the paper on the counter. “Balcony,” it said with a smile and an arrow pointing to large glass windows she’d only seen covered by curtains that were now pushed back. It was scrawled in the same awkward writing she’d seen on his cards.

She took a deep breath. Of course Jaime hadn’t left. He wasn’t really allowed to. And he wouldn’t do that. And yet, she knew she might carry that fear for a long time.

What was he doing outside in that kind of temperature anyway? They’d had light snowfalls for over two weeks.

He had provided her with warm slippers, and Brienne could see through the curtains that a roof extended to the railguard, presumably preventing most precipitations from littering the balcony. She went to check her phone first - nearly 9 o’clock, and a lewd text message from a probably drunk Margaery the night before - then to the couch to grab the throw she’d wrapped herself in for most of the previous evening. Approaching the sliding doors, she could see him sitting at a glass table outside, hugging a thick woolen jumper, legs extended on the chair across him, looking at the cityscape.

He turned immediately at the sound of the door, smiling brightly at her. “Hey.” He rose, taking the few steps that separated them. The balcony was shielded from the wind by translucent walls, making it less cold than she had expected. He was still surprisingly warm when he kissed her. The need she had felt from him the night before felt more specifically like longing this time. “You slept okay?”

Once again, she wondered how her life had ended up there. She nodded and smiled. “How long have you been up?” She hadn’t heard anything.  _ Did he even go to bed? _

“A couple of hours. I don’t usually sleep very... long. Not since the hospital.” She’d always seen him at midday or in the evening, but he always seemed rested. She could see then how tired he looked. Perhaps she could convince him to take a nap later.  _ Depending on how long I stay. _

Brienne turned her head to look out to the city as Jaime wrapped his arms around her, bringing her closer into his warmth, kissing her temple then resting his forehead against it. The whole thing was  ridiculously perfect. “You have such a great view from here.”

There was a smile in his voice and a chuckle in the breath she felt on her neck. He leaned back, watching her. “Gods, I know.” She felt colour rising to her cheeks, but turned to him with an eyebrow raised.  _ You’re not allowed to be that cheesy. _ He laughed, kissing her again, slowly. Languorously.

He kept his eyes closed when they parted, and she took the occasion to study him. He was ever so slightly shorter than she was, probably about an inch or so, but never seemed to be bothered by her height. Most straight men disliked being forced to look up at their partner, which made her frame additionally intimidating. Jaime didn’t seem to mind being able to fit into her arms as well as she did in his. 

Some small scars were visible on his skin from so close, vaguely dispelling the perfection of his features. He was still holding onto his beard, and for the first time Brienne thought that he might have given up on shaving because of the loss of his dominant hand. It did help to remain anonymous in public, she realized. He’d always been clean-shaved in public photos. 

She could see grey hairs through the dark blond. He was nearing forty years of age, she’d found out when she researched him after their first meeting. They had just under fifteen years of difference, a fact that had only left her with some peace of mind when she argued that it was not a long-term thing anyway.

Wrinkles were showing between his eyebrows. She could barely remember him ever frowning in the time they spent together, but that was such a short span out of a lifetime. At least she could give him that: some respite from a constricted existence.

There was little Brienne could do about it, but she cared. Clearly that would be her downfall when whatever this was came to an end, her emotional investment always being the primary cause of hurt in her life. It was the first time that she could clearly brace herself for it, however, and she found that she was ready to embrace that. She was free to go, and she was free to give. Perhaps one day she would find out that Jaime didn’t deserve it, but in the meantime, it was her choice.

She kissed him. She had always responded to his initiative, never taking her own, and a sharp intake of air on his part showed his surprise. He tightened their embrace, leaning into her, letting her lips dictate the pace. His eyes were darker, somehow, when she relented.  _ But still burning. _ They repeatedly went from her own to his lips, as if begging her for more.

The tingle in her belly rebelled, letting a gurgle be heard.  _ Really? You had to bring that up now? _ She was starving. For food or for touch, it was hard to tell. Both, probably. 

A smirk passed on Jaime’s face before he went for her neck again. Brienne felt his lips, then his teeth, lightly, sending a shiver through her. He kissed his way up to her jaw. “Are you hungry, my lady?”  _ That shouldn’t be that hot of a question. _ She hummed in reply.

It was an odd feeling, the loss she felt as they went inside to prepare breakfast. She had rarely been physically close to anyone, even with Hyle. It had been awkward then. There was still some of that with him, but only a trace. Only when she remembered who she was.

She helped break the eggs, and cut tomatoes and fruit, while he fried and made toasts. Her quick adaptation to consider his disability had surprised her, finding that she knew what he might need help with and moving instinctively to assist. The first time, she had almost frozen, realizing it might be overstepping, but no. He had noticed, but he seemed grateful. It had flowed almost seamlessly from then on.

They ate in comfortable silence, though she caught him observing her a few times when she thought she wasn’t looking. He finished his plate before she did her own, and settled to openly stare at her, resting his head on his overlapping hands, elbows propped on the table. Brienne pretended to ignore the scrutiny for a moment, but being watched so intently while eating was unnerving. “What?”

It took a moment to find the right words. “You feel so real.”

_ Real?  _ Was he starting to question his sanity?

“I just mean,” he added to dispel her visible confusion, “everyone else has been putting up some kind of act around me. Whether they’re aware of it or not. I haven’t interacted with a lot of people I didn’t know before - before the hospital, so maybe it’s because it’s a fresh start, but...”

A lot of people he didn’t know probably put up an act around him anyway, she thought. People usually did with celebrities of any kind. She knew the only reason she didn’t do so herself was that there was nothing to do to effectively disguise who she was. She never was good at pretending, possibly because she had no desire to do it. While she didn’t expose herself for just anyone to see, she still always strived to be honest in what she let shine through.

Was that it, then? He’d come to her because he had felt kinship in loneliness, and kept returning because she had been true?

They cleaned together, Jaime planting kisses at the base of her neck while she washed the dishes. She expected to feel him leaning against her, finding it suspicious that he didn’t risk it. She flicked water at him. He laughed lightheartedly.

It was probably just past ten o’clock when they finished, and as he stretched with a yawn, Brienne was reminded that she should get him to take a nap. She resisted the urge to tickle his sides. “You need more sleep.” She sounded like a mom.

He didn’t look at her as if she was a mom. He got close, pulling at her shirt lightly. “Are you staying?” He didn’t need to plead with words, his eyes were doing that very well on their own. Dark and pleading.

Pulling his hand away, she repeated. “You need  _ sleep _ .” Heat was rising in her chest as she pushed aside the idea he seemed to be proposing.

He smirked. “You could take a nap with me,” he suggested. “Sing me a lullaby or something.”

“I’m not singing for you,” she protested. “I’m not singing at all,” she added before he could put another word in. Even Marge couldn’t get that out of her.

“A story then.”

She exaggerated a sigh. “Fine, then. As long as I don’t have to change your diaper.” Jaime had a contrived look before she pushed him towards his bedroom. He was laughing again when he took her hand, pulling her along as if to make sure she would follow.

The room was only lightly decorated, all in white and warm greys. It was almost impersonal, she reflected as he closed the curtains, blocking most of the sunlight. Suddenly, the idea of going to bed with him, even over the covers and fully clothed, felt like almost too bold an idea. Did she really know him? Did he even realize what he was leading her into? How cruel it would be when it ended?

Brienne laid down with him anyway, mirroring him on her side, closing her eyes when he cuddled close. She was aware of his burning eyes on her, but she needed to steady herself first. He didn’t press.

When she finally looked at him, he smiled. “Story?” She had promised one without thinking that she was not a very good storyteller. “A story about a knight.”

“Hmm. ‘It was a dark and stormy night. There was no moon, and everyone stayed in because of the weather. But then the sun rose, and the clouds parted, and a new day began. The end.’”

Jaime poked her stomach with a grin that she reciprocated. “Not  _ that _ kind of night. The kind with a horse.”

“A horse in the night then,” she laughed. “‘There was a horse in the dark and stormy ni-’”

“Come on! Be serious. I want my story.”

“Alright, alright. A story about a knight. ‘There was once a valiant knight in a distant kingdom. He was praised - ‘ what?” She sighed when he interrupted again.

“Make the knight a woman.”

“A female knight,” Brienne hesitated. “I’m not sure that existed.”

“So what? There are dragons in stories. Why would a woman in armour be that much of a stretch?”

She could see he was already getting sleepy. The end of the story, if she could ever muster even a beginning, would probably go unheard. “Fine. ‘She was praised for her... courage, and honour, and she sought to defend those who could not defend themselves...’”

Her tale went on, with his suggestions whenever she got stuck, ending as the valiant knight rescued the handsome prince and rode off into the sunset. Jaime had closed his eyes midway into it, and silence followed the end of the story. She assumed he’d finally drifted off when he spoke softly.

“I’m still awake. Tell me another.”

He was barely there, she could tell. Smiling, she tucked a strand of golden hair lying across his nose safely back behind his ear, and quietly began a song her mother had sang to her as a child. His eyes fluttered open briefly, and she felt a rush of affection for the man. As he shut them again and snuggled ever-so-closer, placing his forehead against her chin, she started to realize just how much trust he was putting in her. In this. For the first time, it dawned on her that her heart might not be the only one in the balance.

She finished the song, humming the tune distractedly a few minutes more for good measure, eventually falling asleep to the rhythmic breathing of the man resting against her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that was more fluff, and some foreshadowing :3
> 
> The last 3 chapters will be posted all at once tomorrow night :)


	6. We Don't Get To Choose How We Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is always a choice, and consequences we deem unacceptable.

The first time Brienne met Tyrion, a month after her first night at his brother’s apartment, was incidentally the day after the first time Jaime and her made love. It had been an awkward affair, that her lover had been determined to try and smooth over with tenderness before, during and after. Despite that, the shyness had endured through the next morning, and the dwarf’s unexpected visit hadn't exactly helped. 

He'd needled them both briefly with clever innuendos until his brother told him off, but the damage was already done. She had fled shortly after, not without a reassuring kiss and swearing to Jaime that she was fine.

She hadn’t been entirely, but she was going to deal with it by herself.

It hadn't been her first time, but there had been so very few before that it could have been. He had been very careful not to hurt her, incredibly patient and devoted and attentive, but she had still felt like she had made a mess of things. Not that she had voiced it, but he had still felt the need to try and reassure her, making her even more paranoid.

Most of her weekends were spent at his place by that point, except on the few occasions when Margaery forcibly pulled her for a girls’ night out. Invariably, the main subject of the evening would be “Brienne’s boyfriend” over which both her and Sansa would be cooing, demanding to finally meet the man. Brienne still hadn't told them the finer print of his identity, keeping his name to “Jay”. She wasn't sure how to handle their reaction when the time came. 

She also wasn't certain she wanted to have to deal with either of her friends’ enthusiasm if she told them they had had sex for the first time the night before, so she had laid down in her own bed upon returning home, trying to figure out she felt. Jaime had given her three hours before texting. 

[Did I do something wrong?]

She’d spent ten minutes attempting to find the right words. Not succeeding, she’d simply tried to reassure him again.

[No, you definitely didn’t]

She had added a heart to it afterwards, and he’d sent back one. He’d understood not to press.

She had known the disappointment had laid in her expectations most of all. In the stories, in movies and books, if the couple was right, it would flow well. It would feel  _ right _ , not the kind of awkward that she had been paralyzed with. It should have been sensual, and she’d felt anything but sexy. She had struggled to remind herself that she wasn’t in a story, that this was real life, that it wasn’t for lack of interest of either party that it hadn’t gone as well as she had wished, but for her own insecurities.

The next morning, a cloudy Sunday threatening heavy snowfall, Brienne had gone back to Jaime’s apartment, and he hadn’t waited for her to get her coat off, pulling her into a deep, breathless kiss before she could say anything, as though he was afraid of bad news. Then he had told her he loved her for the first time, and she had laughed and hugged him and whispered “me, too” with tears in her eyes.

The second time she had met Tyrion, two weeks later, had gone considerably better.

He was the only other person his brother had an actual bond with since the hospital, and it was the opinion of all three that a badly-timed encounter should not be the basis for the relationship between the two most important people in his life.

A dinner had been set up at Tyrion’s apartment, and she had been able to appreciate then the depth of his knowledge and charm. She had been forced to notice, however, that while neither brother shied from complaining about their father, there were no allusions to their sister. Jaime barely ever mentioned her, since he told of how she had suddenly started ignoring his existence at the hospital.

Winter had settled, and the New Year holidays had rolled in. Brienne usually spent her two weeks on Tarth, visiting her father, but kept a few days to spend with her boyfriend in King’s Landing that year. Neither invited the other to family meetings: him because beside Tyrion, he seemed to dislike most of them; and her because it felt awkwardly official, and his security team was still not keen on him leaving his apartment, let alone the mainland. Her father expressed interest in meeting the gentlemen, however, and Brienne promised him a summer visit.

The physical aspect of their romance was eventually worked out as well. It took time and adjustment, mainly for her to silence her fears long enough for Jaime to make her forget them entirely. While she barely ever refused him, it was still rare for her to initiate sex, to which he would always respond enthusiastically. He managed to have her enjoy things she never thought she’d even try.

Margaery and Sansa had eventually been informed of her boyfriend’s identity, after being warned repeatedly that they were to tell  _ no one _ . Of course, that meant that Sansa’s younger sister, Arya, would know everything her age allowed for. She had sworn secrecy, mostly because she disliked his family, and felt it wasn’t something to brag about anyway. Her sister and Marge had shown disbelief, and she couldn’t blame them. She could hardly believe it herself at times.

 

Summer was on its way when things got complicated.

It was nearly a year since Jaime had woken up in the hospital minus a hand, not that he was exactly keen on celebrating that anniversary. But his father, Tywin, was not exactly of the same opinion.

After discussing with the therapists who were still treating his son, then with his bodyguards, the patriarch had decided that a progressive return to public life was going to be organized.

Brienne had not been privy to those discussions, in great part because Jaime had no desire to have her meet his father. They also debated it between them, and neither thought the prospect of exposing her to the kind of life a Lannister attracted to be very agreeable, knowing how cruel tabloids could be with very few words. She knew he wasn’t looking forward to it himself. Anonymity, despite the restrictions he had been kept under, had been a balm. 

Two weeks before midsummer, he announced that he was expected to go to the annual celebration his father hosted at the family mansion in the city. “‘A joyous occasion to reconnect with the public,’ he called it. He’s been dying to parade me again since the day I opened my eyes in the hospital,” he railed.

“You’re his oldest son,” she countered. She still somehow hoped for their relationship to improve, knowing how important her own with her father had been in her life.

“I’m a legacy. He doesn’t see  _ me _ , Brienne. I’m bearing his name, that’s about it. I could be a plaque.”

They both knew the moment would come, but when he asked her to accompany him, she was conflicted. It was going to be a nightmare for him too, getting people to shake his left hand and being stared at, gossiped about within hearing and sight, judged for every step he would take and every statement he would make.

Just like she was, every day.

She didn’t want Jaime to face that alone, but could she stand to have to bear the same treatment? It would quickly end up in tabloids and online. “The Beast Who Ensnared The Lion Of Lannister,” it would read.

It took a week for her to agree. They’d try it out, seeing as it was an event with restricted attendance, and see from there. Brienne knew in her heart where it was leading, and she fell asleep anxiously every night, waking up in panic in the early hours of the morning, alone in her apartment.

The night of the event, she walked to his apartment, carrying the tailored dress he’d gotten her. Something simple, black, humble. He opened the door while fighting with his bowtie. She smiled as she tied it properly. He ran back inside, too nervous to notice the sadness in her eyes.

“I can’t do this.”

It was stated simply, and it stopped him in his tracks. He seemed to notice for the first time that she was nowhere near ready for their scheduled departure twenty minutes later. He looked at the dress in its dust cover and took a deep breath.

“It’s okay. I understand. I can do this.” He met her eyes smiling, only to frown when he realized she was fighting tears. He stepped towards her when she looked away. “Brienne, it’s fine, I don’t - “

“I can’t, Jaime. I can’t do this.” She laid the dress on the back of an armchair, stepping back, unable to look at him as the realization hit.

They couldn’t hide forever. The moment they stepped out together would be their last moment of peace, especially seeing as his father would never relent on his ambitions for his son. He had been lucky to have such a long break away from scrutiny, but it would be over the moment he stepped out of the car tonight.

She had endured childhood with relentless mockery and pity from everyone she met. The things that had been whispered in her back! She’d never find a husband. She should become a septa. So unladylike. Poor Selwyn, who would see his house die out. She’d never give him a grandchild.

Ugly. Deformed. Monster. Beast.

Words that had followed her into adulthood, wherever she went. University in Storm’s End. King’s Landing. Her brief visit in the North to her employer’s headquarters. Sometimes, still, in the hallways of her office.

Brienne could take that. The pain had dulled, though it still hurt.

But in  _ print _ ? Things her father could see? Things that could break his heart?

She couldn’t face  _ that _ . Because it would break hers all over in return.

She avoided Jaime’s eyes, knowing she’d find the same jagged pieces she felt in her chest. And they threatened to pierce through when he spoke, his voice strangled. “ _ I love you. _ ”

How she wished it could make things better. Make things okay. She squeezed her eyes shut, a tear rolling off her cheek, fighting to take a breath. “And I love you,” she finally found the strength to reply. He took a step towards her, and while the prospect of his embrace was tempting, but she also knew it to be fatal. “I can’t do this,” she repeated, retreating.

When she met his gaze, she found a pain equal to her own, and a terrible hollow where fire used to burn. “Why?”

Knowing she would burst into tears trying to explain, she tried to redirect the conversation from where it was heading. “You’re going back to your life, Jaime, and I’m going back to mine. It was always how it was going to end.”

A flash of anger was swallowed by the tears that fell off his cleanly shaved chin. “A  _ life _ ? I’m not going back to a  _ life _ , Brienne. It - it wasn’t an  _ accident _ .”

She barely had the time to wonder if he meant them.

“The reason I ended up in that hospital is that I overdosed in a fucking alley. I drunk myself into a stupor, then swallowed a bunch of pills. I don't even know if I actually tried to kill myself or if I was just too out of it to realize what I was doing. I was heartbroken, and I stumbled around sick until I fell, tearing half my wrist on junk metal and hitting my head hard enough to get mild brain damage. I was almost lucky not to choke on my own vomit before someone found me.”

He had never said anything. “You said you didn’t remember.” 

“Some things have been coming back. Progressively. It’s not really something I would have been proud to share, is it? That’s the  _ life _ I would be going back to. And you - ”

She cut him off. “And that’s the life you would want me to join you in?” 

He flinched. It was an unfair accusation, she knew. He hadn’t wanted to bring her into it, but to create a new one with her. The control his father exerted on him was derailing everything. She hadn’t wanted to hurt him that way, but for every second more this kept going, it was tearing both of them into more delicate shreds.

He seemed deflated. “It wouldn’t have been - “

“The same, I know.” Brienne cringed at the irony of finishing his sentences in such a conversation. “It won’t be the same even without me. You’re not the same person, Jaime.” Maybe she could end this in a better light than she’d hoped. “You’re not a name. You’re not your hand.”

He stood there, empty, and she could not resist going to him despite the risk of falling apart herself. “You’re so much more. You’re a better man.”

“Because of you,” he breathed back.

“I helped, but it was you. It was always you. You had to run away to find me. That was a better rebellion than - than - “ She couldn’t finish her sentence, but he understood.

He closed his eyes. “I love you,” he repeated, a final plea.

“I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There it is, some of the angst promised in the tags :D See why I promised to post more than just this one? Stay tuned for more!
> 
> Or carry on to the next chapter right now.


	7. Jaime's Rebellion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's only ever a fresh start if we do things differently.

Brienne had taken a few days to compose herself, knowing that regardless of the time she spent on a mask, her father would see through it. She had arranged to take three weeks off, to spend most of it back on her home island, away from the gossip and the memories and the pain. Finding all three still wherever she went.

Leaving Jaime had been the hardest thing she hoped she would ever have to do. She had always abhorred conflict with anyone, but hurting someone she loved so much, even for the good of them both, felt like a sin forever branded in her heart. She had wanted to hold him and never let go when he told her of his overdose, but she couldn’t, paralyzed by the fear of his pain adding to the already unbearable amount of her own.

She had texted Tyrion right before entering Jaime’s apartment, and he’d watched her walk away from his door in tears, but seemingly steady. She congratulated herself sadly on getting him to come over, although she could never possibly have guessed how much he would be needed.

Her strength had finally left her and she had broken down as she sat in her car, sobs rippling violently through her as she willed the pain away. When she had gotten home, an hour later, her shirt soaked in tears, she had waddled numbly to her bed, where she had spent the better part of the next twenty-four hours.

A text from Tyrion had roused her around noon the next day, meant to reassure her of Jaime’s condition. “He’ll live,” it said. Clearly he had not been briefed on his brother’s confession.

All other communications were ignored despite their insistence. Margaery, not one to be deterred by unresponsive friends, had ended up at her door that evening, letting herself in with the spare key she kept for emergencies. She had forced Brienne to get up, somehow, despite her clear physical disadvantage, making her eat a small meal before switching to chocolate and ice cream.

Somehow, the only thing she had gotten out of her was, “We broke up.” She had exhausted her tears, her anger, her strength, and somehow the numbness still wouldn’t deal the same blow to her pain.

Tarth helped little. She had wanted to show him where she had grown up, the happy memories she had held onto so dearly, but that now felt tainted. With regret, in part, she had to admit. She had already more than once cried herself to sleep, racked with guilt over sabotaging a perfect relationship because she had been afraid. Over hurting the one she loved to try to save them both further pain.

She kept well away from all media, afraid of what might come up. She assumed that should anything major happen, Tyrion would contact her. Maybe he wouldn’t, if he blamed her for it. He would be right.

But Brienne neither heard, nor saw anything. Jaime’s presence at the midsummer gala had not been advertised, but from the lack of ripples through social spheres, she gathered he hadn't made the comeback his father had wished for. Nor had he made the news in any other way.

A month after the breakup, she was back at work, going through the motions again. She heard colleagues whisper around her, and she knew she was at least one of the subjects of their discussions, but she found that she could not care less. If they didn't know her pain, their opinions were irrelevant.

The leaves had barely started changing colours when she finally returned to her usual bench in the park. Despite the clemency of summer weather, she had not been able to bring herself to face those memories until then. It had nearly been a year since they had met, and it had burst into flame and burnt them both in only a few months.

She had to go back to her life, like she said she would.

When the attempt to keep emotions at bay failed, Brienne let them flood her, promising herself that it would be the last time. She would move on. She would try to forgive herself. Tears flowed freely from her closed eyes for some time, neither stiffled nor encouraged. Steadying herself with deep breaths, she brushed them away, and started on the lunch for which she had no appetite.

Her sandwich was halfway gone when a voice manifested to her right.

“Do you mind if I join you?”

_ I said it would be the last time. _ Her eyes watered, but she managed to swallow her bite before looking. His hair had a bit more grey in it, and his beard was back to the length she had been accustomed to.

And in his green eyes,  _ wyldfire _ was burning again.

_ How do you greet someone you’ve hurt so much? _

Jaime sat after a moment, seeing she would not respond. She wanted to ask how he was, but he looked healthy. Balanced. Probably much more than she had at any time in the past months. He’d made it. The fact that he’d overcome the loss - overcome  _ her _ \- made her smile, despite the rush of sadness that came along with it. He had deserved better.

There was a wall between them still, there were the things that they had said, the things that they hadn’t; the pain that still lingered. Brienne didn’t think she could find the right words to speak of it all, so she looked away, blinking back her tears.

“You were right.” Somehow, his voice was devoid of animosity.

The first reflex that came to her was to shake her head slightly. She had been anything but right. She couldn’t have been, not considering how she still felt.

“You were right,” he repeated, softly. “I’m not the same person. I don’t have to do things the same way, or the same things at all.”

Her hands were crisped on her knees, a sight she couldn’t let go of. It increasingly felt like chance that she had given him any worthy advice.

Jaime stared at her in silence for a moment, then leaned back against the bench with a sigh.

“The first thing Tyrion said when he got into my apartment that night was, ‘You can get her back’.” That got her attention, and she whipped her head towards him, startled.  _ What? _ He was looking straight ahead, at the weathered Targaryen monument in front of them. “I told him everything. It took all night for him to convince me. We didn’t go to the gala. I think I fell asleep around seven in the morning, and when I woke up around midday, I agreed. I was going to get you back.”

Brienne had thought Tyrion’s text about his brother’s state had been insensitive. She’d underestimated him. Jaime looked at her then, with the sort of beaming, cocksure smile she’d seen on him in magazines.

It was so tempting. It seemed so easy, but she knew it wouldn’t be. She looked down, and saw him move closer, reaching for her hand. For a split second, fear flooded her senses, almost making her snatch it away from his grasp. She thought she might shatter if he touched her, but his hand slipped in hers, so familiar, so warm, and she didn’t break. She took a deep breath, closing her eyes, as he leaned in, pressing his forehead against hers.

“I love you,” Jaime whispered with a smile.

That was so unfair. “I hurt you,” she replied, holding tears back once again.

“You hurt us both. And,” he added when she shook with a sob, “considering how well you’ve protected yourself in the past, I know how much it must taken out of you to do it. I think I understand. And  _ I love you _ .”

He let her breathe, stroking her hand, as he waited for her to calm down. Brienne felt his lips on the bridge of her crooked, freckled nose, kissing her tears away from her cheeks, seeking her mouth. 

She thought of her sandwich, that he could probably taste now. Of his scent, that had enveloped her the moment he had sit down. Of their nights, watching movies he complained about and the ones when they made love. She thought of their breakup.

Pulling away, their eyes met, and she felt the reality of his situation standing firmly between them. 

“I’m not going back, Brienne. That isn’t my life anymore.”

She shook her head. It wasn’t that easy. “Your father - “

He kissed her again. “My father can’t do anything about it. He doesn’t have leverage anymore. I’m not going back. I won’t be cowering in a cave, but I don’t have to lead the life he expects me to. My life, my rules.” He smiled. “And my first rule is that I need you to be in it with me.”

They held each other’s gaze for a moment, Brienne founding surprisingly contagious determination in his. He wasn’t going to let go this time. She didn’t want him to.

“I - “ She sighed, swallowed. “Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yaaayyyy :D
> 
> More fluff in the last chapter ^_^


	8. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things have settled down again, although the future is always an treasure of undiscovered choices.

The tabloids were far less interested, for a much shorter time than either of them had expected. Sure, they’d made snide comments about her appearance, but they’d been surprised to find that most of their audience was actually on the couple’s side. There had even been calls for the resignation of a few “reporters” who had gone on rants about disturbing topics relating to them.

“I know you don’t want to hear about it,” Tyrion began, narrowly avoiding a light slap at the back of his head from Brienne as she walked past him on her way to the couch.

“Then don’t tell me,” she warned. He signaled her to wait.

“But it’s too good to pass,” he finished. He went on to read the latest blurb that had attracted the ire of the readers. “‘The latest Lannister couple is clearly lacking in public sensitivity. How can they - ‘“ Tyrion snorted. “Sorry. ‘How can they have us look at them without forcing us to imagine them in an intima - intimate liaison?’” he continued with a laugh, barely missed by a cushion. He had become adept at ducking when Brienne threw things at him, which he enjoyed provoking. Being small made him a smaller target too, after all. “‘Who would want to think of  _ that _ ?’”

“I don’t want them thinking of anything at all! That’s none of their business!” The heat rising to her cheek was definitely accompanied by the usual colour. She couldn’t see how anyone wouldn’t think precisely of  _ that _ after reading those few sentences, as she just had. Except that she knew all of the actual, best parts. Hence the blush.

“What are you traumatizing my wife with this time, imp?” Jaime walked into his flat with takeout, hair ruffled by the winter winds that had been assailing the city.

“I’m not your wife,” Brienne protested weakly. He had started calling her that merely a week after they’d gotten back together, when he promised that he would marry her one day. She had warned him not to make promises he couldn’t keep, so he had sworn it again, and switched her title from “lady” to “lady wife”. She had to correct him every single time he introduced her to someone new now. Worse than a child.

“Not  _ yet _ ,” he reminded her with a beaming smile.

“Sex,” Tyrion piped up from the armchair he’d settled in, away from his future sister-in-law. That earned him a nasty look from the lady herself as she fled to the kitchen, and an actual slap at the head from Jaime’s prosthetic.

“I’m the only one allowed to do that,” he warned, placing the bags full of food on the living room table. Spicy aromas were already invading the apartment when Brienne returned with utensils.

“But what people say about your sex life is  _ fascinating _ ,” the dwarf mocked, reaching for a container. He hummed appreciatively at its contents.

“I don’t care. The only opinion that matters is  _ hers _ .” Jaime cocked his head towards his girlfriend, who stuck out her tongue at Tyrion as she settled back on the couch.

He returned an obscene gesture that his brother missed. “Oh, yeah? And what does  _ she _ say?”

“That I am a magnificent god, barely - hey! I’m not finished,” he protested when she slapped his arm as he sat beside her. “ _ That I am a magnificient god _ , barely suited to honour the glory of her body and soul,” he finished smugly, earning another slap.

“Can we not discuss this when we’re about to eat?  _ Or at any time _ , for that matter,” she specified. Truly worse than children.

Jaime had settled for low-key administrative work with his brother’s talent agency since he had diverged from their father’s plans for him. That had allowed them to become reacquainted properly, and much closer than they ever were. When he had felt ready to face her again, he’d spent all of his lunches at the other end of King’s Landing from the agency, waiting for Brienne to show up in the park where they used to meet. It had taken weeks, but it had born fruit.

Following their reconciliation, they had both agreed to go more slowly, which had mostly prevented them from officially moving in together, though her friends knew they were not likely to surprise her in her own apartment anymore. He had finally visited it, free from his security team, but his own, if anything, had the very high advantage of guaranteeing privacy.

As he was not hiding from the public anymore, he did end up getting recognized despite the beard that had well served as disguise in the past. It had been inevitable, but they had established ground rules between the two of them: he would never expect her to attend any event with him, and neither would discuss their relationship publicly. 

Brienne had doubted that she would be asked much about it, but turned out to be spectacularly wrong: while Jaime was more approached by professionals, ordinary people seemed entranced with the idea of an imperfect woman capturing a handsome celebrity’s affection. She had ended up with quite an unexpected fanclub.

The New Year holidays were coming up fast, and her father would finally meet the man he had heard so much about. When they had talked, he had said nothing of gossip magazines to his daughter, but she suspected that he kept an eye on tabloids nonetheless. He trusted her to fend for herself, but a father would always worry, especially after seeing her in shambles the previous summer. She had tried to impress on him that Jaime was not at fault in the matter, but she was still nervous about the two of them meeting.

Reflecting on the upcoming trip distractedly while eating in silence, Brienne half-listened to the brothers’ banter about current work affairs. There was more of that now, and she was glad of it. His life seemed much fuller than it had been when they had first started together. It had almost felt like he was waiting for her to have time for him. Now he sometimes came to bed after she’d fallen asleep, muttering about idiot artists and even worse managers.

She gathered empty containers and brought them to the kitchen, leaving the two men arguing about sports. They were ready to be rinsed and discarded, emptied of the remnant of food, when a pair of arms embraced her waist. A strong, warm body pressed against her back and a wet mouth on her neck. “Guess who?”

With a chuckle, she replied. “Unless there were power-up mushroom in that food, certainly not Tyrion.” She could feel Jaime’s smile against her skin.

“Are you okay?” he inquired. “You’ve been quiet tonight.” While not obsessive, he had taken to monitor her mood whenever he felt something might be off. She knew he was still wary of bad surprises.

“I was just thinking about the trip to Tarth,” she replied, turning around to wrap her arms around his shoulders.

“Do you still want me to come?” An offer to retract hers.

“Of course I want you to come,” she said firmly, closing the argument with a kiss.

A reproachful shout come from the living room. “Don’t have sex in the kitchen!”

Jaime grinned, taking it as a suggestion. “We should do it just to spite him,” he said with a sigh and a kiss on her collarbone. Brienne laughed, pushing him away with an admonishing look. He pouted. “I can never do anything.”

“You can marry me,” she blurted out, surprising herself. The look she got in return flipped her stomach over more than the kiss had. “Eventually. I mean, you said you would,” she stuttered out when he kept staring at her.  _ Why did I bring it up?  _ They'd barely been together again for three months. And while the earlier eight or so did count for something, the reality of their breakup made it all a lot more complex. 

They heard the TV being turned on, and the volume being conspicuously raised. She rolled her eyes.

“Are you saying that you are agreeing to take me as your husband, my lady?” Jaime whispered on her lips. A rush went through her as their eyes met.

“...at some point, yes,” she conceded. The memory of the old ladies who, back home, had been confident that she would never marry made her smile. “We should do it on Tarth,” she suggested.

His laugh was delighted. “Well, if we're going to be discussing it...” He kissed her mouth, then her nose, before scurrying to the bedroom, returning shortly with a small box.

Brienne stared in disbelief as he presented it to her. “How long have you had this?”

“Before the breakup. I hadn't made any concrete plans,” he added when he saw her pained expression. “I just knew I wanted it to happen. It doesn't have to be an official betrothal,” he continued. “I know it hasn't been very long, but... Well, if we  _ are _ going to be discussing it...”

She took the box, opening it to reveal the piece inside. It was wider than a usual engagement ring, halfway to the width of a band, white gold with a single, resoundingly blue sapphire embedded in it. It was simple, quiet, and fit perfectly with her tastes.

“First I thought of a ruby, for Lannister,” Jaime explained softly, “but blue looks amazing on you.” He seemed as nervous as if the engagement itself hinged on her approval of a piece of jewelry.

“It's gorgeous,” she breathed, and he visibly relaxed. “And it's just as well. Maybe you'll be taking  _ my  _ name.”

He grinned. “I'm not opposed to that.”

She threw him a quizzical look. “Really?” She'd have thought he would be more attached to his ancestry than that, but considering the last year, it was perhaps not that surprising. 

A shrug. “The only thing I insist on is that we have to ride off into the sunset on a horse.”

“There are horses on Tarth,” Brienne replied. She knew where he was going with it, and that trying to avoid it was futile. “Will you be asking for my father’s permission?”

Jaime wrapped his arms around her, ignoring her question. “Because you're my knight in shining armour and you rescued me.” He pressed himself against her. “That’s going to be my happy ending.”

“I have done no such thing. You saved yourself. I was an innocent bystander and you dragged me into this.”

“You saved me,” he argued, “from making the same mistakes over again. It seems that losing myself was still an acceptable consequence, but losing you was not. You woke me up.”

“Not with a kiss, but with a slap. What a knight,” she agreed with sarcasm.

“With a kiss  _ and _ with a slap. Okay, maybe I’m a bit of a masochist,” he conceded with a laugh. She gave him back the open box, presenting her left hand for him to slip the ring on. He did so with a proud grin. “As for your father’s permission, no. Will you be asking mine?”

She cringed. Definitely not. They had yet to meet, and Brienne wasn’t looking forward to it. She had heard through the branches that he more or less blamed her for his favourite son’s downfall. Not sure if it had been the relationship or the breakup, exactly.

“I will be asking for your father’s  _ blessing _ , however,” Jaime continued. “I mean, if we’re to be married on Tarth, it would be awkward not to.” He hesitated. “Would you reconsider if he refused?”

“He won’t refuse,” she stated.

He raised an eyebrow. ‘I broke your heart six months ago. I wouldn’t blame him.”

“He won’t refuse,” she said again. He would trust in her decision, like he always did.  _ I broke my own heart anyway. _

Tyrion shouted over the sound of the TV. “Are you done fucking now?” Brienne shook her head at Jaime’s pleading gaze, kissing him back when he sighed and gave up. He started making his way back to the living room when she spoke up.

“I have a confession to make.” He stopped, turned and walked back to her.

“What, are you pregnant?” he asked in a mocking tone. She kept her face as expressionless as she could, only to see his go from shock to oh-so-careful happiness after a few seconds of silence. “...oh, gods,  _ are you? _ ”

She poked his ribs.  _ Good to know. _ “Of course I’m not. But I did eat the rest of the gummy bear vitamins, so you can’t have any tonight.” She walked past him to go join Tyrion.

Jaime called after her. “We’re going to have to talk about this!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so very much for reading :D

**Author's Note:**

> Brienne is a fluffy dork because it makes me happy for the time of this fic :)


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